The Wrong Reflection
by StarSword-C
Summary: Novelization of episode "Cardassian Struggle", mission "The Other Side". When the Terran Empire mounts an escalating series of attacks on the prime universe, Captain Kanril Eleya of the USS Bajor is assigned to transport the Orb of Possibilities into the mirror universe to switch it with its double and keep the Terrans out.
1. Somebody Else's Wedding

**Chapter 1: Somebody Else's Wedding**

Prylar Halen intones in Kendra dialect, "_Boray pree hadokee. Tolata impara boresh. Preeya _Armen Aldos_, Preeya _Kanril Teran_, abrem varo atel. Ni ya var alun bat._"

Vedek Armen turns to face my sister, then sweeps her into his arms for a powerful kiss and the congregation at the Priyat shrine starts clapping. Standing next to Teri in full dress, party salad shined and hanging from my breast, I join in the applause as he leads her off the dais and down the center aisle. I catch sight of Gaarra standing with the rest of my command crew, grinning. He hollers something I can't make out. Tess elbows him and Biri starts laughing.

About half an hour later I'm standing with my family at the reception on our front lawn. It's the first time I've seen them in over six months. Gaarra and I are on light duty after the Schrödinger's Butterfly mission and the _Bajor_'s deflector room is still under repair, so we managed to get shore leave for a few days to attend the ceremony.

My mother Shora is much shorter than me, only about 165 centimeters. I got her dark green eyes but I mostly take after my father Torvo, who's big and bulky from decades of construction work and stands even taller than me at 190. He used to have flaming red hair like me but it's all gone white, and he wears an eye patch where his left eye used to be, a souvenir from our war of independence.

Teri, my little sister, is leaning up against her new husband's shoulder, still wearing her burgundy wedding dress. If you didn't know us you wouldn't think we were related: she's the exact opposite from me in terms of whom she took after, with mousy brown hair, hazel eyes, and a cute little round face. And of course she's a schoolteacher, not military. "I wish Sharya could've made it," she lightly complains. Our cousin's in second year at Starfleet Academy and there was no way to get the three weeks' leave, minimum, that would've required. She'd miss too many classes.

"We can get her on subspace later," I answer.

"Not the same."

"No, it's not," Armen agrees.

"Trust me, Vedek Armen," I answer, "serving in Starfleet absolutely _sucks_ sometimes."

"You know, you should really just call me Aldos. I'm your brother-in-law now."

"Yeah, but you were my T.A. in temple way before that." I raise my wine glass to my lips but it seems to have sprung a leak. "_Phekk_."

"Eleya!" Mother scolds me.

"Sorry, Mother. Where's that d"—I catch myself—"springwine bottle? Ah, Gaarra, my lifesaver." He appears out of nowhere and pours me another glass of the pale blue wine. It's a very tasty local vintage you can't get outside the Kendra Valley, despite half the vintners on Bajor telling Indali Nerys she'd make a killing if she exported.

"Yeah, you looked empty."

"Thank you."

"So, Vedek Armen, who do you like for next year's Bajor Cup?"

"Well, Tomis Lee is very, very good," Armen replies as he disentangles himself from my sister, "but there's a new guy, Nas Eli, who's making waves in the semipro circuit up north."

"He's half-human, isn't he? Kid of a Starfleet officer?"

"Oh, you've heard of him? Did you hear what he did to…" They move out of earshot and I look after them.

"So, when are you two getting married?" Father asks me, and a mouthful of springwine sprays across the grass.

"Um," I say, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. "Gaarra and I? We're not."

"You can't be serious, Big Sis. I've barely met the guy and I can tell he's head-over-heels for you."

"Yeah, I know, and I love him, too. But _officially_ we're not even dating—too many regs to work through. Nobody other than you guys even knows we're a couple now, not even Tess." I pause for a second, then amend that with, "I think."

"So in other words, you're not marrying him because it's _inconvenient_?" Mother says in a disapproving tone.

"I'm not marrying him because I'm kind of in hot water with Starfleet right now and I don't want to give them any more excuses to beach me."

"Come again?" Father says in a confused tone.

"It wasn't luck that got the _Bajor_ reassed to Marconi's command in time for the wedding, it was me losing it and cussing out three ambassadors, a rear admiral, _and_ the Proconsul of the Romulan Republic."

Teri's jaw drops. "Seriously?" Then, more quietly, "Whoa."

I nod. "Only reason I didn't eat the big chicken dinner was because Captain Shon and Ambassador Doran Vala stuck up for me and Ambassador S'taass didn't feel insulted."

"Wait," Mother says, "what's chicken got to do with it?"

"Sorry, Starfleet slang. 'Bad conduct discharge.'"

Father whistles. "You've always had a temper, Eleya, but _wow_. That's a new one even for you."

"I have the coolest big sister ever." I roll my eyes and take a sip from my glass as Teri starts giggling.

"Anyway, after that Admiral Quinn just wanted to get me away from Earth and keep me away from anything even related to diplomatic functions."

"But they were willing to put you on that test mission two weeks ago," Father points out.

"Yeah, I'm not sure that was exactly a diplomatic function. Marconi basically told me to sit down and keep my mouth shut during the briefings. And Professor Dukat turned out to be nice enough I could work with her. And, well, regardless of what the upper brass think of me I _am_ kinda the highest-profile Bajoran in Starfleet right now, so I guess one set of politics cancelled out the other."

Father shakes his head in consternation. "I give up. I've never been good with politics. That's why I quit after we kicked the spoonheads out."

"It's usually not that bad, Father. Most days I'm pretty sure I have the best job in the universe."

"If it makes you happy, then we're happy, too," Mother says. "Now, about young Commander Reshek. Are you being safe?"

"_Mother!_" Teri and I both yell at once. My cheeks probably just turned as red as my hair.

* * *

"I like your family," Gaarra tells me after we've seen the newlyweds off on their honeymoon in the family flitter. "They seem like good people."

"One of these days you'll have to introduce me to your aunt and father."

"If we ever end up in the Gamma Quadrant, sure, we can maybe swing by New Bajor." The bandwidth on the trans-wormhole relay satellites can't handle real-time vid, unfortunately.

We go into the house, leaving my parents on the front porch, and I reach under the kitchen sink for the bottle of Romulan ale. "Want one? Last bottle from the case we brought back from New Romulus."

"Sure, pour me one." We clink glasses and drink, and I suppress the urge to cough when the ale hits my throat. There's an old joke that the Romulans drink the stuff mostly to prove that they _can_. It's good, though. "I'm gonna go upstairs and change into civvies."

"Yeah, me too. Where are the others staying, again?"

"They're not; they're taking the _Glyrhond_ back to DS9."

"Wirrpanda still wants us on light duty?"

"Yeah, through tomorrow at least. Which means _we_ get today and tomorrow all to ourselves." I turn left at the top of the stairs while Gaarra goes right to the guest bedroom. My old room is just as I left it when I shipped out for Militia basic twelve years ago. Still the same reproduction posters for _The Fifth Element_, _Mass Effect 2_, and _Adrian's Curse_. There's my old workstation console and wall screen, and the old Cardassian disruptor pistol I first learned to shoot with sits on top of my dresser. Collimator matrix burned out ages ago and I never bothered getting it fixed.

I strip out of my uniform jacket, undershirt and slacks and pull a pale blue tank top and shorts out of the dresser, then start disassembling the party salad from my dress whites. The humans think it's rude to wear white to a wedding if you're not a participant, but Bajoran brides wear whatever color they want. I carefully pack the uniform into its storage case and put the medals in on top of it.

"Knock knock," I hear Gaarra say behind me. He's switched into a gray button-down t-shirt and jeans. "So, this is your room, huh?"

"Mm-hm."

"You _really_ like old sci-fi movies, don't you, Captain?"

"Well, actually, _Mass Effect_ was a computer game series, but, yeah, I love Earth sci-fi."

"Why?"

I give him a look. "Well, why do you like Trill mystery novels?"

He cocks his head. "Touché. What's _The Fifth Element_ about?"

"Oh, forget telling you, why don't we just watch it?" I hop over to my workstation and go digging through the movies folder, then shoot the film over to my wall screen and hit play.

Two hours later the credits roll with us cuddling on the bed. The sun's setting outside and I can see Jeraddo beginning to rise. "That was … pretty good. Science was way off, of course."

I start laughing. "Well, what do you expect? They didn't know how this _shiel_ worked back then!" I drain the rest of my glass of Romulan ale, still laughing, and put my head down on his shoulder with a sigh. "So, are you gonna grow your beard back?" It's still stubble from where they had to shave it after the EPS explosion that cost him his original lungs.

"Gonna try."

We just lie there for a moment, but I can feel his chest rising with each breath. He's now got the lungs of a man ten years younger, but the smell of his cologne mixed with his own skin, that's all him.

I feel his lips on my forehead as he squeezes me closer to him. I tilt my head back and catch his mouth. It's our first time since the Schrödinger's Butterfly mission and I think I feel up to some … mildly strenuous exercise.

"Do you … think your parents will mind?" he asks between kisses.

"Oh, hold on. Mm, computer, close and lock the door. Privacy mode." Off his look, "Not my first time having boys over."

"Started young, didja?"

"You really want to hear about my conquests, or do you want to _be_ one?"

"Oh, I already am."

He's leading this time and gets above me. I've got his shirt unbuttoned and his hand is at the base of my spine and pulling up the back of my tank top. I capture his mouth again and let his tongue inside, but then I hear an electronic chirp, followed by Ensign Esplin's voice. "_Bajor_ to Captain Kanril."

_Phekk_, I have the worst timing. I break the kiss and turn my head to the side, struggling to reach my combadge on the nightstand as he turns to nibbling my neck. "Mm. Get off." I hit the combadge on my second try. "Kanril."

"Captain," Esplin says, "C-in-C Starfleet is on the line for you. I'm patching him through from DS9."

"Geh, _phekk_. Put him through." I push Gaarra off me and get up, pull my tank top back down, readjust my ponytail, then flick the call from my desk to my wall screen and stand, coming to attention as gray-haired Fleet Admiral Riker appears on it. "Sir!"

"At ease, Captain Kanril. Uh, is this a bad time?" he asks, I'm hoping just from seeing me out of uniform. I _really_ hope it's not sex flush he's seeing.

"I'm on shore leave but I can talk."

"How's your head? Heard you got a little banged up."

"Doc says I'm fine. He's even letting me go back to full duty tomorrow. What do you need, sir?"

"I have good news, bad news, and … indifferent news. Which do you want to hear first?"

"Well, I'm a strong proponent of facing the music. What's the bad news?"

"You're not getting the Pike Medal."

"Okay." I give him a questioning look.

"As you know, the Pike has to be authorized by the President, and to be perfectly frank after what you pulled at Admiral Tuvok's conference you're on Okeg's and Secretary Maz's shit-lists. However, Starfleet Command has control over everything else and Secretary Shad supports your actions, so you're staying on active service."

"Is that the good news?"

"No, and I'm not finished with the bad news yet. At Tuvok's order you're also getting an official reprimand for gross insubordination. I hope you know that is a serious black mark on your service record. You'll probably never make admiral now."

I let out a breath. "Respectfully, sir, can you see me stuck behind a desk directing fleets or running a research office?"

"Mm, no, I can't," he admits.

"Then I think I'll survive. Sir."

"Fair enough." He clears his throat. "The good news is you're getting another Purple Heart for that Undine thing a couple weeks ago, and the Karagite Order of Heroism for what you did at Spacedock and Qo'noS."

I blush. The Karagite's as high as you can go before you need the president's signature. "Thank you, sir."

"Tuvok also ordered this."

Gaarra goes "What?" behind me as I say, "Wait, he gave me a black mark _and_ a medal?"

"He said something along the lines of it being logical to reward heroism and punish transgressions."

"How very Vulcan of him."

"Finally, we've got some new orders for you. We're detaching the _Bajor_ temporarily from Marconi's command. Did you hear about the Terran Empire attacking Vauthil Station in December?"

"I think I was on a run to New Romulus when that happened, but I heard about it, yeah."

"We've been investigating that and the various incursions they made last year, but there's been another raid. Two cloak-capable _Defiant_-class ships with Terran markings hit a convoy out of Oradhe II forty hours ago."

"Losses?"

"Four freighters and one Ferasan mercenary escort damaged or destroyed, 123 dead, and they got away with a whole shipment of reactor parts. Wait, hold on." He gets up and walks out of the frame. I hear him talking to someone, female, but I can't make out the words. Then he comes back. "Sorry, that was Admiral La Forge. The _Jadzia Dax_ potted them with an antiproton sweep and Gul Antos from the Fifth Order tracked them to the Arawath system."

"Did he get 'em?"

"No, the Terrans have a fortified base and a stable transdimensional portal in the Kuiper belt. The Cardassians asked for help and Marconi's marshaling an assault force to take it out. The local Klingon forces are pitching in, too."

"First joint op since the armistice. You want me on it?"

"No. We've got something different in mind for the _Bajor_."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Yes, apparently _The Fifth Element_ and _Mass Effect_ exist in the _Star Trek_ universe. Don't ask about _Adrian's Curse_, though; I made that one up for flavor.

I'm making a few chronology changes to the official storyline. I'm telling the same story as "The Other Side" but I'm setting it after "Surface Tension" and _Reality Is Fluid_. The part where Eleya tells her parents she's basically been reassigned to Antarctica is in reference to a "Surface Tension" fix fic I'm developing.

And of course, Eleya's one of those officers who never really wanted to be an admiral anyway. In the immortal words of James T. Kirk, "Don't let them promote you. Don't let them transfer you, don't let them do anything that takes you off the bridge of that ship, because while you're there, you can make a difference."

Gul Antos turned up in the diplo mission "Standoff", and Riker's "good news, bad news, indifferent news" line is a reference to a Rowan Atkinson sketch titled "Pink Tights and Plenty of Props".


	2. Storm Before the Calm

**Chapter 2: Storm Before the Calm**

"So let me get this straight," Gaarra says as the _Shoemaker_ claws its way skyward the next morning. "The Terrans' portal looks like the Celestial Temple on a subspace level, so Starfleet Science thinks the Prophets have something to do with it, and the attacks only started after we got the Orb of Possibilities back from the Cardassians last year, so they think _that_ has something to do with it, too. And they think _we_ can go on an alternate reality excursion with the Orb and knock out the portal."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" I prompt, adjusting our course a couple degrees as we aim for a suborbital arc. I haven't flown the Type-8 shuttle in a while but it's coming back to me, and it practically flies itself anyway.

"I'm just saying, there seems to be a lot of 'Starfleet Science _thinks_' in this plan," he comments in a sardonic tone.

"Yeah, well, hopefully we can get some confirmation when we get to Ashalla and I can speak to Kai Kira in person."

"Why'd they want the _Bajor_ for this? I thought we were _persona non grata_."

"My best guess? A, we're the heaviest ship Marconi's got—"

"Seriously? I thought he had an _Odyssey_-class."

"The _Valentine_ bought it against the planet-buster at Cardassia. He's supposed to be getting the USS _Phinda_ to replace her but she got shot up pretty bad at Qo'noS and won't even get out of the yard until Sunday. Anyway, B, we're both Bajoran so they think the church'll be less inclined to raise a stink when we borrow the Orb."

"Prophets, this sounds like Schrödinger's Butterfly all over again."

"No kidding."

The sky darkens enough for the stars to become visible and I shift in my chair as the shuttle tips forward to enter the flat part of the suborbital course. Kendra Province is in Bajor's southern and eastern hemispheres, about 34 degrees south latitude, while our destination, the planetary capital Ashalla, is almost on the other side of the planet. The autopilot handles the navigation for the most part—the ship can fly and land itself on simple trips like this one and its trip back out from DS9—and my job is mostly just to monitor it. I can see Derna and Endalla hanging in the blackness and I can just make out the constellations of the Five Brothers and Hamren's Gift as we cross the terminator to the night side.

Ashalla Traffic Control hails us as we begin our descent twenty minutes later. "Incoming shuttlecraft, please state your identity and destination."

"Ashalla Control," Gaarra answers, "this is Starfleet shuttle _Shoemaker_ NCC-97238-slash-02 out of Priyat, Kendra Province, requesting routing to Temple District, over."

"Copy, Shuttle _Shoemaker_. Confirm control handoff for routing to Temple District shuttlepad, over." A new dialog box appears on my screen. I confirm that it's for them to take remote control and press it, and the shuttle smoothly descends into the atmosphere over the capital.

Ashalla's air lanes have gotten busy since the end of the Dominion War. Thirty-odd years ago nearly everybody still used groundcars. Aircars were a luxury item and there wasn't much call for spaceship landing space. Now, though, as our shuttle careens through a layer of thunderclouds and into the pouring rain below, we can see the lights hundreds of aircars moving people and cargo between points in the city.

The space traffic has picked up, too, and our shuttle slides in behind a larger Romulan _Kestrel_-class runabout. I pay close attention to the readouts and controls, ready to take over on manual if necessary. Theoretically it's impossible to have an accident with every air vehicle in the city fully computer-piloted, but if I had a credit for every time the phrase "theoretically impossible" was juxtaposed with some version of "oh, _phekk_", I could retire.

After passing the Chamber of Ministers building about fifty meters below and to the right, the shuttle peels out of its lane and cuts left around the Central Bank of Bajor tower, turning northward to the compound containing the central authority of our religion. There's a landing pad on the far side of Ashalla Gorge for aircars and small starships and the shuttle smoothly sets down. I unbuckle and straighten my uniform and pull on a poncho against the rain, then press the door panel. The landing pad is well-lit with floodlights, illuminating a dark-skinned, part-Cardassian ranjen standing in front of the shuttle holding an umbrella for an older Bajoran. Brown eyes, long, straight nose, silver hair still kept in a short bob cut. I approach and snap into a Bajoran Militia salute, palm facing out, for Kira Nerys, former commander of Deep Space 9 and now the Kai of Bajor.

"You can stop doing that, Captain Kanril," she says in a mildly amused tone. "I retired over thirty years ago."

"Ma'am, you fought in the war of liberation, and I'm former Militia." It's become a tradition for any Militiaman to salute anyone from the Resistance. But I let my hand down anyway because it's ten degrees and pouring and my sleeve's getting wet.

"Are you, now? That I hadn't heard."

"I was a blacksider, NCO. Went to Starfleet OCS when they shut down the fleet. Uh, this is my operations officer, Lieutenant Commander Reshek."

"Eminence," Gaarra says, clambering out of the shuttle in a poncho and hitting the lock panel to close it up.

"Commander," she greets him back. She turns back to me. "Let's get you two inside before this storm gets any worse."

"Did Vedek Armen get in touch with you, Eminence?" I ask as we follow her to a waiting groundcar. No frills, just a dark-colored Honda Spectre three or four years old.

"Yes. Interesting request, Captain. You've got the Vedek Assembly almost as angry as they were about Schrödinger's Butterfly." The ranjen opens the front passenger door for the Kai and she clambers in, while Gaarra and I sit in the back. That's when I discover that the door feels oddly weighty. Maybe I was wrong about 'no frills,' so I ask. She groans. "True Way took a shot at me a couple years ago. They missed but the Assembly didn't want to chance it and had my car armored. Anyway, the worst one's Vedek Taibo. He's calling you a heretic and wants you excommunicated." The car starts moving and we approach the bridge across the canyon.

Gaarra asks, "Isn't he the same guy who—"

"—who tried to excommunicate the First Minister over the Butterfly mission? The same. Reactionary zealot," she says with disgust. "He was part of Kai Winn's cadre decades ago. He's not even comfortable with letting ships travel through the wormhole, though I think he's figured out that ship has sailed."

"And he wants me _excommunicated_?" I repeat in disbelief. "I think Admiral Quinn was right when he said I've got a talent for creating political shitstorms."

"When was this?" Gaarra asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Debrief after Qo'noS."

"If it makes you feel any better, Captain," the ranjen says, "Her Eminence and I don't share Taibo's opinion and neither do most of the other vedeks. I'm Tes Keettu, by the way."

"Nice to meet you."

The Shikina Monastery is situated on the edge of a sheer cliff down to the River Taaj that runs through Ashalla. The car trundles across the hundred-meter drop and Ranjen Tes pulls up under an overhang on the building, out of the rain. Kira, Gaarra, and I let ourselves out, and Tes leaves to park the car. "Come on inside," Kira says.

Gaarra and I peel off our ponchos and hang them up, following her into a sitting room where a roaring fire is going in a wood stove. She takes off the peaked cap and an acolyte walks in with a tea service. "Thank you, Fili."

"That better not be Earl Grey," I comment. "Tried it once, can't stand it."

"It's deka." She pours cups for the three of us. "I've considered your request, Captain, and I'm rejecting it."

"_Phekk_, I thought you said—"

"It's not church politics," she interrupts, taking a sip of tea. "It's that you don't have a plan. You're just going to be wandering around the other reality until the Terran Empire blows you and the Orb back to the Prophets."

"It's crossed my mind, Eminence. But I have my orders."

"To Hell with your orders," she says dismissively. "Starfleet has a lot of power, but they don't get to dictate terms to the church any more than they do to the President. The Orb of Possibilities is the sovereign property of the Bajoran people, not Starfleet, and it will not leave this building without my express approval," she says with finality.

"All right, so give us a Plan B," Gaarra counters. "We can't afford to garrison one star system in the middle of nowhere forever just to keep the Terrans out."

She puts her teacup down as Fili and Ranjen Tes walk in carrying an ornate wooden case on a stretcher between them. "This is my Plan B, Commander Reshek. Our dear captain is going to ask the Prophets for advice." The two men lay the case down on the table and leave without a word. "This is the Orb of Wisdom, Kanril Eleya."

I look to the box, its gems glowing faintly purple, then back to the Kai. "Eminence, I can't. When Vedek Armen, Prylar Armen back then, had me use the Orb of Prophecy and Change, nothing happened."

She gets up, walks around the table and sits next to me, then reaches her right hand out and takes hold of my left ear, pinching it _hard_ between her thumb and forefinger. The dull pain makes me wince. "That was then," she says in a quiet, motherly tone. "This is now. You have traveled into the Celestial Temple. You have been touched by prophecy. I can _feel_ Captain Sisko's hands on your _pagh_." She lets her hand fall and I reach up and rub my ear. "Clear your mind. Look upon the Orb. Find the answers you need."

I don't mind telling you, I'm afraid. Afraid to fail again. That lack of an Orb experience was one of the reasons I stopped keeping some of the holy days and turned more secular. But once again it comes down to this: I've got people depending on me to do a job, and by the Prophets I will do it. So I shove the fear into a deep, dark, corner of my mind, take a deep breath, and carefully open the doors of the Orb's casket.

I get a glimpse of a glittering violet crystal hourglass, then there's a blinding flash behind my eyes and I'm standing on the bridge of the _Bajor_. The air is hazy, just like it was when I met the Emissary. I look around and suddenly there are people standing in a circle around me. The Prophets. I've read about them doing this, taking the forms of people you know. Tess. Gaarra. My sister Teri. Admiral Quinn. Professor Atani Dukat. My last CO, Alfred Detweiler. Oh, god, one of them took the shape of the Orion matron who nearly killed me ten years ago.

"The Kanril comes, as the Sisko said," the Detweiler Prophet intones.

"It is of Bajor," Gaarra notes.

"As we are of Bajor," Teri adds.

"I'm here, Prophets. How may I serve?"

"There is an imbalance," the Orion states.

Tess says, "The Orb of Possibilities is not of this Bajor. It is not of your reality."

From Atani Dukat, "Not this time. Not this place. It is wrong."

From Admiral Quinn, "What happened to Bajor should not have happened."

I take this in. "What must I do?"

From my sister, "The Orb has a Mirror.

Tess continues, "A Twin."

From Gaarra, "A Reflection."

Captain Detweiler adds, "Cross over to the other side. Bring the Orb and its Mirror together. Bajor will be as it should be."

Dukat continues, "The Sisko has convinced us to leave this task to you."

The matron finishes, "Find the Mirror. Restore the Balance."

"Will I succeed?"

"Maybe you will, maybe you won't," a warmer, less formal voice says behind me, and as I turn the Detweiler and Tess Prophets part to let the Emissary through. "Remember what I told you once about the importance of free will?"

"Yes, I do, Emissary."

"The game grows more complex by the day. The Xindi have emerged from isolation, the Organians are moving, and the Metrons have attacked the Iconians directly."

"Who's winning?"

He looks saddened. "The Metrons are holding for now, but they are not as they once were, and they are weaker in subspace. Once the Iconians defeat them, they will return their attention to the Milky Way. Which means you must act as soon as you can."

"Should I tell that to Starfleet Command?"

"No, the Prophets have other pieces in the game."

Detweiler speaks, "The Kanril has been given its task."

From my sister, "It has duties to execute."

From Gaarra, "To its crew."

Dukat adds, "To Bajor."

The matron finishes, "And to itself."

I absorb this and turn to Sisko. "Captain, do you ever…" I pause to consider my phrasing. "Do you ever regret what got you here?"

He smiles faintly. "Some of it. I'm not proud of some of the choices I made in the Dominion War. My biggest regrets, though? I wasn't able to see my daughter grow up, or see Jake get married and have my grandchildren. But I couldn't be prouder. Rebecca's in Starfleet now, did you know that?"

"I heard something about it. She's a lieutenant commander, CO of the _Heinlein_."

He nods. "We all have our duties. I visit them when I can, in visions."

"But it isn't the same."

"No, it's not. I envy you, Captain Kanril. You are of Bajor, but you have a chance to have a duty _and_ a life. Never forget that."

Another flash and I'm back in the Kai's living room. I close the Orb's casket reverently and sit back for a moment. "Are you okay, Captain?"

I grab his collar and pull him over for a forceful kiss, and out of the corner of my eye I see Kai Kira twitch in surprise. I break the kiss and tell him. "I'm fine, I'm better than fine. I've got an actual plan now."

* * *

"So," Marconi says, scratching the scar on his jaw as I explain everything to him on Deep Space 9 that afternoon. "You expect to be able to just waltz into a Terran military installation with no backup, steal an Orb, and waltz right back out the front door?"

"Actually I think I have to _blast_ my way in and out, but yeah, that's the basic idea. Quite frankly sir, I'll have to make most of this up as I go," I admit. "But at least it's something _resembling_ a plan, which is more than I had when Riker called me back to duty. I mean, hey," I add with a shrug, "it beats just wandering around in an alternate universe waiting for the Terrans to catch up and put two in my head."

Captain Kurland grunts, "Point."

"I've also got an idea or two on the 'no backup' part. Maybe we can contact the Ferengi or the Breen, possibly even the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance."

Kurland starts, "Are you sure that's a good—" The door slides open. "Ah, welcome to the party, General Brokosh."

I turn in my chair to see an orange-hued Lethean in heavy-duty Klingon plate armor with a blue-and-white cape. "Good to see you again, Captain Kurland." Then he looks over at me. "Captain Kanril, good to finally talk to you; we didn't get a chance at Tuvok's conference. You were a little busy cussing out my ambassador."

I roll my eyes. "Am I _ever_ going to live that down?"

His mouth twists into what I think is supposed to be a smile but the horns on his face render it a little creepy. "Probably not. Don't worry, though, I agree with you that somebody needs to get rid of J'mpok. He's an asshole, and my House has always been allied to Martok anyway." He steps into the room and sits down next to me. "Don't know if you know, but we've met before." I'm drawing a blank, so he prompts, "Bird-of-prey at Regulus IV? You were in the _Hammond_?"

"Which bird?"

"The _B'Rotlh_-class, _mupwI'_."

"That one? I thought Tess shot you up pretty good."

He snorts. "Nothing permanent. And you only got me _after_ my XO was injured and the targ-fucker who took over decided it would be fun to fly right in front of your forward battery. I didn't catch it in time."

"Huh. So what's with the getup?"

"Oh, this?" He gestures at the cape and grins rather frighteningly. "I'm the head of the House of Chel'toK now."

"You're a merc; how did you manage that?" Kurland's XO, Commander Anasa Iymur, asks.

"By not being dead," he deadpans. Off my look, "Old Man Chel'toK got vaped by that Iconian and Kidu bought it on the _Khorazhar_ over Qo'noS, so that left me the closest living male family member. And since I'm not a ridgeface I can't sit on the Council myself, so my wife Ba'woV got that job as heir presumptive. It's also why I'm a general now. A couple ships from the House of Woldan decided to defect to a house that'd 'won greater honor'." This last part with air-quotes.

"General," Kurland interrupts, "where's everyone else?"

"Turbolift was full; they were waiting for the next one." The door slides open again. "There they are."

There's some familiar faces in the bunch. A big Gorn stoops to get under the doorframe and takes a seat, then I see Admiral Amnell Kree and Captain Bronok Zell from the Badlands mission, Commander—no, _Captain_ Chuba, she's been promoted since I last saw her, and—

I get up from my chair, run up, and sweep the short, black-haired Vulcan into a bear hug. "T'Var, they didn't tell me you were coming! It's great to see you!"

"Mmf, it is good to see you again as well, Captain Kanril."

I grab her by the arm and guide her to the chair on the other side of me from Brokosh. "How's the Eighth Fleet treating you?"

"I'm sorry," Brokosh interrupts. "Who is this?"

"I was operations officer under Captain Kanril until late last year." She turns her head to me and answers, "It is not. Vice Admiral Ben-David attempted to intercept the Undine near Epsilon Eridani and the fleet was effectively destroyed."

That puts a hole in my good mood. "I'm sorry."

"Thus is the nature of war, Captain," she says matter-of-factly. "The _Olokun_ and five others survived intact and thirty-four of the other ships are under repair or awaiting dockyard space."

"92% casualties, ouch," Brokosh remarks, wincing.

"They sacrificed themselves to give Earth a fighting chance, and we inflicted significant damage to the Undine armada before we were swept aside. I am satisfied with our performance, General."

He shakes his head. "I don't get you pointy-ears. I just … don't."

T'Var lets that pass. "Rear Admiral nd'Ashalef volunteered the remnants of the _Olokun_'s wing for this operation, and here I am."

"How many people have we got, anyway?" I ask the table.

Admiral Kree answers, "General Brokosh has three ships in his task force, although his is by far the heaviest. We also have a Gorn battle squadron under General S'Trenk, a _Negh'Var_-class and support vessels, and parts of the Cardassian Second and Fifth Orders. Jagul Macet has overall command."

"What is he, ninety?" Brokosh interrupts. "Did they haul him out of retire…ment…" then he trails off as Kree glares at him. A white-haired, mutton-chopped Cardassian at the opposite end of the table from us snickers and I stifle a chuckle. I've been on the receiving end of the Kree Glare™ before.

Kree continues, "As for Starfleet, we're using all of Marconi's reserves—Yes, Captain Kanril?" she says as I raise a hand.

"Just curious, why isn't Marconi commanding this? It's his jurisdiction."

Marconi answers, "I'm fine back here on Deep Space 9 as an operational director for BUFA and part-time diplomat, but Kree's a better field commander. Plus we're diverting several of my ships for this operation so I need to stay here and keep an eye on things in case the True Way or whoever tries anything."

Kree continues, "I'm forming the _Olokun_, _Patrick Henry_, _Dervish_, _Laporin_, and _Defiant_ into a _Galaxy_ wing centered on Kanril's _Bajor_. Admiral nd'Ashalef will command. This wing will travel through the portal into the alternate reality and attempt to locate the missing Orb."

"I'll get a holodeck set up as a flag bridge for him."

Kree acknowledges me with an appreciative nod and brings up a plot on the screen. "According to Gul Antos' flyby the Terrans have about ten heavies and forty light units. The main base is heavily shielded and has two additional defense satellites. It'll be a tough nut to crack."

Brokosh grins. "Not a problem, Admiral. You want them disabled or plain gone?"

"The sats, gone. Just get the station's shields down. We'll handle the rest with boarders."

"Aye, aye." He gives a sloppy salute and Kree raises a distinctly unamused eyebrow at him.

"Any other questions?" Marconi asks.

"I have a request, sir," I say. "I want a full unit of MACOs attached to the _Bajor_. We may need them."

His head rocks forward. "Not sure Command will sign off on that. If it were anyone else—"

"They don't technically _have_ to sign off on it, sir. Going strictly by the letter of the regs, I just have to get the regional commander's approval. Roxy owes me a favor."

"What favor, if I may ask?" Kurland says.

"My apologies, sir," T'Var states in her usual controlled tone of voice, "but that is classified. Suffice to say we extracted her unit from a predicament eighteen months ago."

"All right, zero hour is 2200 hours sharp. If you can get her approval in eight hours, more power to you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Anything else? No? Then man your ships, and Godspeed."

* * *

I got the MACOs I wanted: Unit 92 under Lieutenant Commander Jason Gardner got itself squared away aboard the _Bajor_ by 2130. Rear Admiral Eviku nd'Ashalef turned out to be an Arkenite. Started in science in the late '70s before switching to command track. Nice guy.

Park undocks the _Bajor_ from DS9 with his usual surplus of care and moves us out to the rendezvous, fifteen kilometers off the station and out of the flight lanes, where a motley assortment of fifty-two capital ships, nine runabouts, and two full Peregrine wings hang in the darkness, waiting impatiently for the word go.

"This is Admiral Kree. All fleet elements, report in."

"Gray Leader, standing by."

"Gold Leader, standing by." These two from the Peregrine wings.

"_Jadzia Dax_, standing by."

"_Amaterasu_, standing by."

"_Olokun_, standing by."

"Please nobody say 'lock s-foils in attack position'," I mutter to no one in particular.

"What?" from Tess.

"Skip it." The comm system chimes for our turn. "USS _Bajor_, standing by."

"Gul Antos, Fifth Order, ready."

"Gul Ekoor, Second Order, ready."

"IKS _QarchetvI'_, standing by." I suppress a shiver at the sound of that name. Km'prala, daughter of Koloth, has a well-deserved reputation for cruelty. She half-destroyed the USS _Hamburg_ and left them for dead, and she kept blasting the_ Hammond_ even after I tried to surrender. I was lucky the _Shran_ turned up when it did.

"GHS _S'slee_ and Gorn forces, standing ready."

"IKS _HoSbatlh_ here," Brokosh's rough voice comes through. "Time's a-wasting."

"All units, all units," Admiral Kree orders. "Commence operation. Captain Kurland, bring the transwarp conduit online."

The fleet moves towards the green glow of Deep Space 9's link in the Federation Transwarp Network. It'll get us close—there's a Ferengi-built private gate in the Vanden system that we've shanghaied—but it'll still be over a day at warp 9 before we hit the target.

A lot can happen in 30 hours.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Okay, so several cameos in this chapter: Sisko, Kira, Gul, now Jagul Akellen Macet (Mark Alaimo's other Cardie who the EU decided was Dukat's cousin), and of course Brokosh. The Gul Ekoor said to be leading the Second Order ships is a one-shot Cardassian from DS9: "What You Leave Behind", one of the Cardassian Guard soldiers who joined Garak, Damar, and Kira in storming the castle and the only other survivor of the assault. RADM. Eviku nd'Ashalef is a minor character from the _Star Trek: Titan_ novels (one-shot xenobiologist on the USS _Titan_).

I decided to try exploring Eleya's spirituality a little more with this chapter, like I did with _Reality Is Fluid_, and did it by transferring the final scene of "Crack in the Mirror" over to "The Other Side" as an Orb experience. And of course, we get many, many call-backs to the Undine invasion in "Surface Tension".

As I've previously noted, Eleya's backstory predates the season 8 tutorial revamp. Captain Alfred Detweiler is the name I decided on for the captain who gets killed by the Borg, back before Cryptic decided his name was Masc Taggart and had him order you to sacrifice him.

Eleya's shuttle _Shoemaker_ is named after Gene and Carolyn Shoemaker, asteroid hunters and co-discoverers of Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 that hit Jupiter back in the late '90s. The USS _Laporin_ is named after a classmate of Sisko's who was said to have been killed offscreen by the Klingons in DS9: "Apocalypse Rising". The Gorn flagship GHS _S'slee_ refers to the Gorn that Kirk fought in TOS: "Arena", named S'slee in the EU.


	3. Best Laid Plans

**Author's Recommendation: Read "The Universe Doesn't Cheat" first.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Best Laid Plans**

We've been at battle stations for the last twenty minutes, with the _Bajor_'s attack wing positioned near the rear of the fleet.

"Fleet", hell. That implies there's some kind of organization. Despite Kree's efforts it's a hodgepodge of ships from four nations with wildly different protocols and doctrines. The geeks spent the first eighteen hours of the trip just getting a shared battlenet set up, and our own element contains three escorts, a pre-Wolf 359 scoutship, and an under-armed science ship. A _Galaxy_ wing in the Dominion War would've had at least a couple midsize cruisers.

Oh, well. As long as they can screen the _Bajor_ properly so we can do the heavy lifting, I suppose the actual composition doesn't matter. I trust T'Var and Kurland at least to do their jobs; the rest is up to me and mine. Still, it's a little disconcerting that none of my flankers are even the size of my saucer. But then again, the only other big ships in the entire fleet are Kree's _Hanson_ and _Dominant_, Km'prala's _Negh'Var_-class, and that _Zilant_-class, _S'Slee_. Hell, all Brokosh brought was his own _Tor'Kaht_-class BC and a couple birds-of-prey, and yet he thinks he can knock out those defense sats.

For now, it's business as usual: the bridge crew is playing musical chairs, trading off consoles getting their vacsuits on, and I'm chatting with T'Var and Brokosh. Technically we're supposed to be observing radio silence except for mission-critical communications, but realistically it's impossible to intercept a tight-beam at this range. The video's a little distorted from passing through two warp fields but we can still hold a conversation. "Captain, that is most impressive," she says. "Rear Admiral Tuvok was able to defeat the Cooper Undine at Spacedock but I have never heard of any non-telepath coming close to overcoming an Undine psi master."

"I think I got lucky, actually. I don't think he, or she maybe… T'Var, do Undine even have a 'he' and 'she'?"

"I believe they have five biological sexes, Captain."

"Whatever. I think he was just trying to hurt me, not control me. So I basically just held my ground until he was convinced I was worth listening to."

"Ballsy," Brokosh comments. "Stupid, but ballsy."

"Well, if it works…"

Tess touches my shoulder. "All sections reporting secure and ready, ma'am."

"Thank you, Tess. How much longer?"

"Ten minutes."

"All right, take over. I have to go put my suit on." She nods and I look back to the screen. "We'll talk more later, T'Var, Brokosh." I get up and head to the back door of the bridge.

The doors close behind me and I walk around the corner to the locker room. I find mine, pull my vacsuit out of storage, and unzip and shrug out of my new white-on-black "Odyssey" uniform jacket when suddenly strong hands, stronger than mine, grab me and pull me backwards. I drop my suit and start to fight but then I hear Gaarra's voice whisper in my ear in Kendran, "Gotcha."

"Dammit, you scared the _phekk_ out of me!" He kisses my neck and my back arches instinctively, pressing my upper back into his pecs. I break his grip and turn around and he captures my mouth and our tongues wrestle hungrily.

Then he pulls away. "Something's wrong?"

I shake my head and sit down on the bench facing him. "Just pre-mission jitters, the usual."

"You're worried?"

"I'm captain of the ship. It's my job to be worried."

He smiles and puts a comforting hand on my cheek. "Don't be. We know our jobs. Anything that can be done, we're doing."

I lean into his palm and close my eyes. "I know. But I'm still scared."

He pulls me into a tight embrace. "We'll be fine. We always are." He loosens his grip a bit and looks me in the eye. "Did you sleep all right, at least?"

"No nightmares, no alarms. Actually managed to get a full nine hours for once."

He smiles. "You've got it made. Oh, by the way." He reaches into his locker and pulls out a jumja stick. "My grandmother's recipe. Picked up the ingredients at that new gourmet store on DS9."

I eagerly grab it from him and take a lick. "Tangy."

"That'll be the moba juice."

"You know just how to cheer me up," I say, grinning at him.

"Wasn't that hard to figure out," he answers, grinning back. I laugh, suck on the jumja stick for a moment, then lean in and kiss him. "You taste nice."

I break off the kiss for a moment. "Computer, lock the door. I don't want any interruptions." Off his look, "Oh, come on, we've got a few minutes."

* * *

The _Bajor_'s warp field gently collapses and we drop back to sublight speed, with the rest of the fleet fanned out before us. "Contact, contact!" Admiral Kree bellows over the comms. "Reading forty, repeat, four-zero, Terran capital ships and two squadrons of _Peregrine_-class attack fighters, point-nine light-seconds out!"

Captain Zell adds, "USS _Marduk_, launching Alert Five wing!"

"Tactical analysis coming in!" Esplin announces. I look over the plot as the battlespace forms and the battlenet comes online. It's hardly ideal. We have a slight numerical advantage but they've got the edge in tonnage—signals are coming in from thirteen heavy hitters: nine _Typhoon_-class battleships, three _Regent_-class cruisers, and a _Galaxy_-class ship like mine.

Wait, something's odd on the plot. "Kanril to Kree, what the hell is Brokosh's group doing?" They came out of warp doing almost a tenth the speed of light and are now way out ahead of us.

"Watch and learn, Captain," Brokosh answers instead. "Strike package away! Breaking off!"

"Strike package away!" Commander Alvek's voice echoes. I'm told Brokosh handpicked two non-Klingon captains for his unit: Alvek's another Lethean, Saurussa's a Gorn. The second bird-of-prey repeats the call and all three ships curve off in a turn that has to be hard on their inertial dampeners.

"_quv DaHutlh DuplI', leHengan!_" Km'prala yells at him. Brokosh ignores her and Kree tells her to clear the channel unless she has something useful to add.

"Captain, look!" Tess points at the plot. Suddenly both of the defense satellites and several of the enemy ships, including the _Galaxy_-class, flicker and vanish from the plot, and momentary stars appear on our forward viewscreen.

I open a private channel. "_Bajor_ to _HoSbatlh_, what the hell was that?"

"Kinetic attack. Drop ten tons of material out of your cargo bay at a good percentage of the speed of light and watch the magic. Rejoining formation."

He's evened the odds somewhat but it's still going to be rough. As our two fleets close, Kree calls, "Keep the _Bajor_ in one piece, no matter what. Forward elements at torpedo range in one minute. All ships, weapons free. Green light, repeat green light to engage."

"Conn," I order Park, "take us relative up so we can get a clear shot."

A multicolored salvo of torpedoes lead the way in both directions as the lead elements open fire. The two fleets clash, merge, and then it's a general melee. The voices on the comms echo and overlap: "Cobra Two to Gold Seven, you've picked one up—"

"_Prakesh_ to _Teghbat_, come right so we can—"

"—he's on me tight, I can't shake him—"

"GHS _Xrathis_, launching aceton assimilator—"

"—switch to attack pattern Shran Omega! Get a lock and pop that guy—"

"—quantum mines away!"

A blinding flash below us as somebody's warp core goes, then a burning bird-of-prey swings past several kilometers ahead of us, pursued by a _Defiant_-class. Tess announces, "I have a lock! Firing!" The _Bajor_ hums with energy as the dorsal phaser strip goes into rapid fire and searing hot lances stab out into space. One misses but the rest slam into the port shields, knocking the ship reeling. It breaks off its pursuit, spins hard to starboard and comes about.

"_Olokun_, engaging target." A stream of phaser bolts spits from the emitters on T'Var's _Ushaan_-class, ripping open the forward shield arc as Tess fires a pair of torpedoes on a parabolic course, catching the pancake-shaped starship head-on. Its torpedo magazine goes off and rips it to shrapnel.

"_Patrick Henry_, requesting assistance! We're engaged with five, repeat five! We're in deep shit!"

"We're coming in," Brokosh's voice answers. "Meromi, scatter mode." Sickly green energy packets blast in from the bulldog-like _Tor'Kaht_-class as we add our full broadside to the beleaguered _Freedom_-class.

"_Dominant_ engaging _Damar_'s target!" Not related to us; I ignore it.

"This is Jagul Macet! Moving to assist _Patrick Henry_!" Two _Galor_-class cruisers led by a _Keldon_-class battleship sweep in, main disruptors blazing at the _Nova_, _Centaur_, and _Excalibur_-class ships attacking the old scout vessel. Engaged from three directions, they don't stand a chance. The _Excalibur_ breaks in half amidships when we and Macet's _Seldyn_ both hit it at once, Brokosh's fire shatters the _Nova_ and sends two of the _Centaurs_ into a core breach, and the third starts to flee but catches parting shots from us and the _Henry_ and vanishes in a fireball.

"_Henry_ to nd'Ashalef. I've got heavy casualties and I've lost an impulse engine and two phasers. Requesting permission to withdraw."

"Permission granted, Commander Gutierrez." The single-nacelled ship comes about and vanishes into the distance.

We fire, and fire, and fire some more. An enemy _Regent_-class engages us but the _Marduk_ sweeps past, forward cannons raking across its dorsal surface. Our forward phasers smash down their shields and the _Laporin_ and _Olokun_ lay into it with torpedoes and guns. A pylon rips off and the saucer breaks open, laying a dozen decks open to space.

The battle blurs. I'm in the zone, absorbing information from four or more sources at once and simply reacting, barking orders on instinct. A _Hideki_-class and a _Danube_-class violently explode off our port bow under fire from an _Excalibur_-class. A _Tuatara_-class collides with an enemy _Typhoon_ and the Terran ship cracks in two. The _Luna_-class _Jadzia Dax_ falls out of the fight with one nacelle shorn off and her mission pod leaking atmo and debris; part of Kree's VFA-144 Spitting Cobras peels off to cover Captain Emyahl. Tess blows a _Centaur_-class out of the sky. Fighters dance among the dueling warships, hitting targets of opportunity and turning into miniature suns under fire. A _Steamrunner_-class and an enemy _Saber_-class whip through the fight spitting cannonfire at each other. Phaserfire hisses into our port shields and Tess pays it back with interest.

Late in the fight a trio of _Defiant_-class ships rush us, raking the saucer with their cannons. We reinforce the shields and they hold, barely. I hear part of a damage report; we've lost power to part of the main dorsal phaser. Biri catches one with a tractor beam and the _QarchetvI'_ hammers it to fragments with her underslung heavy guns. Another hits a still-active mine left by the Gorn. Its engines flame out and it goes into an end-over-end tumble out of the battlespace.

Master Chief Wiggin hollers, "Captain, I lost track of the third one! Playing back… Damn, he cloaked!"

Nd'Ashalef's voice comes through the P.A., "All units near USS _Bajor_, configure main deflector for antiproton sweep!"

There's a pause, then, "This is Gul Antos, I've got him! He's making another run at the _Bajor_—Kanril, on your port side!"

A salvo of torpedoes from an _Armitage_-class escort carrier hammers into us and the _Olokun_ and the pancake-shaped _Defiant_ decloaks and opens fire. "Port shields at five percent!" Tess yells frantically. "Locking weapons!"

"Conn, roll ship!"

Wiggin shouts, "They're accelerating, aiming for the secondary hull!"

Damn it all. I got sloppy. Or nd'Ashalef did. All our flankers except the _Olokun_ were covering the other side. And now this _phekk'ta maktal kosst amojan_ has an opening for a ramming attack. Gaarra hollers something about diverting power to the SIF and Tess opens fire but the damaged phaser isn't working right and they keep coming.

"_Olokun_ to _Bajor_. We will stop them."

"T'Var, there's nothing you can do! Your forward guns are shot to hell!"

"There is one thing we can do. I am sorry we could not continue our conversation from earlier, but the mission takes priority. All hands, abandon ship. Live long and prosper, Captain Kanril." On the side camera the oncoming _Defiant_-class is eclipsed by T'Var's larger _Ushaan_-class, now spewing escape pods. The two ships meet at an angle and the viewer is washed out by a blinding flash of white light, like a small star going nova, and just as quickly there's nothing left but debris.

"Wiggin, scan for survivors!"

He pauses. "Reading seventeen life signs in the escape pods. Ten humans, two Bajorans, three Bolians, two Trill—"

"Did _T'Var_ get off, damn it?"

He quietly answers, "No, ma'am. No Vulcan life signs detected. I'm sorry, ma'am."

"All units, all units," Kree's voice interrupts, "cease fire! Repeat, cease fire! I've just received an offer of surrender from an Admiral Dzhabrail Mahadeo. Repeat, the enemy has surrendered."

"Tess—"

"_No_, Captain," she says with finality.

I start to say something but stop. Damn it, Eleya, you're better than this. T'Var did her duty; so did the enemy.

Then Biri speaks up. "Um, is this a bad time to say that we're going to have to change the oplan?"

"How so?"

She shakes her head and hits her intercom key. "Admiral nd'Ashalef, Commander Ehrob, Lieutenant Korekh, please come to the command deck conference room."

"That bad?"

We head to the door at the back of the bridge and down the corridor to the conference room. The Arkenite sits down in one of the conference room chairs, communications conferences Admiral Kree into the conversation, and Biri lays it out for us. "Basically, we can't send but one ship over there."

"Why not?" nd'Ashalef asks.

"Because the _Bajor_'s too big. If my calculations are correct, her passage will destabilize the portal in both directions for at least forty hours."

"What if we—"

"Look, sir, we either send the _Bajor_ by herself, or we send maximum two of the escort ships."

"Two ships can cover more ground," nd'Ashalef points out.

"Yes," I agree, "but one warp signature's harder to spot and the _Bajor_'s more likely to be mistaken for another Terran ship—they operate heavy units as independent commands just like we do."

"And the _Bajor_ has better science gear than the others, except maybe the _Laporin_," Biri adds. "I know for certain we're harder to kill than the _Laporin_, and we can track the Orb's energy signature better than the _Defiant_ or the _Dervish_ can."

"I don't like it," Gaarra says. "We'll be behind enemy lines with no backup and no way back for almost two days."

"Never stopped us before," I point out, then turn to the admiral. "Sir, you have the final word, of course, but I'm with Biri."

He scratches the back of his head, then looks to Kree, who nods. He looks at me again. "You're certain you can handle it, Captain?" I nod. "All right, you have a go. We'll unload my staff to the _Dominant_."

* * *

"_Bajor_ to all units, we're on our way. See you in a few days."

Brokosh's voice responds, "_HoSbatlh_ to _Bajor_. Goddess walk with you, Captain Kanril."

The portal grows to fill the sky on the main viewscreen, then there's a slight jolt and then we're through to the other side. Park gooses the throttle to get us clear of the portal. "Damage report?"

Tess answers, "Bynam reports a slight fluctuation in the warp coils but he's got it under control."

"Rear view camera, please." The viewscreen shifts. Biri wasn't kidding about us destabilizing the portal; even I can see the difference. It didn't exactly look safe before, but now it's roiling and sparking. The Terrans must've spent months getting the fleet we just destroyed through.

T'Var would've loved this. Even though she'd never have said.

"I've got nothing on local sensors," Tess comments. "The Terrans must think this end is more secure."

"Might say something about the status of the Alliance," I comment. "Our side, this is Cardie territory. This side?" I let the question dangle, giving her a meaningful look. "All right, let's see if we can get any location on that Orb. Master Chief?"

Wiggin nods and turns to his console to enter the parameters. "Nothing on the Orb's signature yet, but there's something else. I'm picking up multiple warp signatures, mix of Klingon and Cardassian, headed to the third planet of the system. Call it five birds-of-prey, three cruisers, and that one's definitely a _Keldon_-class. We're about two hours out at warp 8. Also reading some Terran ships heading that way." He stops for a moment, then adds, "Spooky."

"What is?"

"Just, their warp fields look exactly like ours. Cognitive dissonance, you know? They look friendly but you know up here"—he points at his temple—"that they aren't."

"I guess. I never thought about it."

"Well, you're not a sensor technician, ma'am."

I ignore that. "All right, Park, set a course for the Alliance ships. Tess, stand us down from battle stations but keep us on yellow alert. And take over, I need to handle something."

"Ma'am?"

"A personal matter."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You have the bridge, Tess."

"I have the bridge," she confirms. I get up and walk to the turbolift. "Deck 8."

"Hold that," Gaarra says behind me.

"Gaarra?"

"I didn't know T'Var, but I know _you_, Captain."

I smile. "Thank you."

Because my crew has a larger-than-average percentage of Bajorans, I had one of the undeveloped rooms on this deck turned into a chapel. I don't use it very often but it was a popular idea. We've even got a chaplain, Simene Jyn'fossy, a Foundation Reformist prylar from our colony on Dreon VII. She's not a member of Starfleet, of course, just a contractor. At the moment she's keeping watch over the Orb of Possibilities. She's got light brown hair and a face that is perpetually calm and peaceful, and she reaches out to me. "Captain. What happened?"

"I lost a friend. I lost a very good friend."

"I'm sorry. How can I help?"

"I wanted to borrow a duranja lamp. If that's all right; I mean, she wasn't an adherent."

"The Prophets won't mind." She grasps my ear, but she's gentle. "Your _pagh_ is in turmoil, Captain. Talk to me. How do you feel?"

"I feel … guilty." I'm a little surprised, but that's the best description. "T'Var sacrificed herself to save the mission and me, but I'm focusing on her when probably a thousand or more of our people just died. Hell, at least two of my own crew in Phaser One bought it."

She nods. "Nothing to be guilty about. You knew T'Var. You didn't know any of the others." She goes to the closet and removes a bronze oil lamp and frame. "Do you know how this works, the rituals?" I nod. She opens a panel in the base and plugs a cable into the base and turns it on. It's a hologram, of course. Can't have an actual open flame on a starship, but it's the thought that counts.

I face the flame and close my eyes. "_Raka-jen ut shala morala… ema bo roo kana… uranek… ralanon _T'Var_… propeh va nara ehsuk shala-kan vunek…_"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** See? I can be cruel. I can write a decently characterized supporting character, make it clear Eleya cares about her, and then kill her off. At least T'Var got to go out taking one for the team instead of being a straight redshirt.

Translating 'Lethean' into _tlhIngan Hol_ (where Km'prala calls Brokosh '_leHengan_') gave me some trouble. The language lacks a 'th' diphthong so I had to come up with a substitute and I figured the phlegmy 'H' was about as close as I could get ('tlh' is more of a tongue-click). "Lethe" became "_leHe_", followed by the suffix "_-ngan_" for "inhabitant of".


	4. Big Damn Heroes

**Chapter 4: Big Damn Heroes**

"Gul Morag!" Glinn Eldrin exclaims from sensors, "reading one Terran battlecruiser, _Harbinger_-class, off our port quarter, five minutes out! Transponder decrypted as ISS _Conqueror_!"

"_Shtel_," my commander mutters under his breath. "Akira Sulu's ship. Helm! Hard to starboard, emergency power to impulse drive. Let's polish off the _Interceptor_ before they get here." On the tactical plot the _Koranak_ banks right, bringing the bow around to target the _Defiant_-class destroyer dogging the _Hurgh'ragh_. Fire hisses into our aft shields from the _Wauja_-class cruiser that was acting as bait, but we swiftly pull out of range of its damaged weapons.

"Target locked," I report.

"Fire, main spinal mount," he confirms.

I hammer my key. A sun-bright stream of energy lances out at the destroyer from our spinal disruptor and collapses the aft shield, just as the pancake-shaped ship opens fire with its cannons and turns the bird-of-prey into so much scrap metal. I curse, then boost power to the emitter and fire again, vaping the son of a bitch in a blinding flash, its warp core a momentary sun going nova.

We were on patrol on the border when we picked up a distress signal from a Cardassian freighter. There _was_ no freighter; it was a Terran trap. I don't think they were expecting a patrol as heavy as ours but we got shot up pretty badly anyway. Now it's just us and the _Kang_ left.

"Additional sensor contacts!" Eldrin calls. "One Terran heavy cruiser, _Sato_-class, one line-battleship, _Galaxy_-class, bearing one-two-seven by zero-three, approaching at warp 9.92! Arrival times, two minutes and two-fifteen!"

"Sir," Dalin Damar says from his station, "we can't stay here! There's no way we can challenge a _Galaxy_-class battleship with this much damage! If they take us alive—"

I snarl at him, "You move from that chair and you'll learn I'm worse than any Terran! We are _staying_! _Bak'rikan!_" I finish in Cardassian.

"Helm, continue turn and prepare to take the cruiser and battleship head-on. Ja'rod, where the _shtel_ are you?"

"I'm on your wing, Morag," the Klingon's voice comes through the comms. "And we shall die with honor!"

I always expected I'd die a flaming death in battle. I check to make sure my suicide capsule is secure in the socket of the back molar taken by the Bureau of Identification in my childhood. Despite my brave face to Damar, I know what the Terrans do to female prisoners. Reassured that I won't be taken alive if they board, I turn to Gul Morag. "It has been an honor serving alongside you, sir."

He turns and gives me one of his rare smiles. "We die free, Dal. And we die well, for Cardassia. I would choose no other officer to share my last moments with."

"What the—" Eldrin starts to say.

"Yes, Glinn?"

"Gul Morag, I just noticed something odd. The course of the heavy cruiser and the battleship would have taken them _past_ where we were. And the _Galaxy_-class seems to be—" Suddenly he exclaims, "Sir, the battleship just opened fire on the cruiser!"

"What?" I exclaim, looking to the plot. The _Galaxy_-class slams the smaller _Sato_-class ship with a dozen salvos of searing orange phaser fire from its forward emitters. The cruiser returns fire but to no avail. Its aft shields shatter under the unrelenting barrage and the vessel is swiftly cut to pieces. Escape pods boil off of what's left of its flanks, voles fleeing a sinking ship, as the huge battleship reshapes its warp field and changes course towards the _Conqueror_.

"Why would the Terrans destroy one of their own ships?" Then it occurs to me that a standard Terran _Galaxy_-class can't possibly manage the speed they're pulling: It's too heavy for their current drives.

"Gul Morag," the communications officer says, "we're being hailed."

"Onscreen."

"Vidcomm's out."

"Then take it on audio," I tell him.

The voice is female, contralto like mine, but distorted by the aftereffects of the Terrans' jamming. "Alliance vessels, this is the Federation Starship _Bajor_. Looked like you could use some backup. We are moving to intercept ISS _Conqueror_."

There's stunned silence for a moment, then Gul Morag speaks. "USS _Bajor_, this is Gul Kerim Morag of the Cardassian Seventh Order, CDS _Koranak_. Your assistance is most appreciated. Captain Ja'rod, coordinate your fire with the _Bajor_; we'll handle the _Punisher_. Strike now, for Cardassia!"

* * *

Even in other realities, some things never change. "All right, Tess, that's an _Emissary_-class cruiser, or whatever they call it over here. Looks like basically the same as our side, maybe it'll have the same weaknesses."

"Aim for the pylons and the secondary shield projector," she confirms. Her console pings. "Oh, good. That was damage control. Phaser One's fixed."

"Time to intercept?"

"One minute," Wiggin says. "Wait, reading change in _Conqueror_'s warp field. They're turning, coming at us head-on. I think they figured out we're not friendly."

"Ensign Esplin, jam their transmissions. Tess, you may fire at will."

With the comms arrays filling local subspace with static, the _Bajor_ comes streaking in. The _Conqueror_ drops to sublight, probably hoping we'll overshoot, but Park crash-translates and we fall out of warp and open fire, a mighty lance of overcharged nadions rushing along the ventral array from both ends and whipping out into space, slicing through the chaos of the energy released from our shattered warp field and hammering into the enemy cruiser's shovel-shaped prow. A _Vor'cha_-class battlecruiser, this universe's version of the IKS _Kang_ I suppose, screams in from our starboard and sprays cannon fire and torpedoes.

The _Conqueror_ returns fire. Now that I've actually got time to think about it, I can see what Wiggin was talking about as far as cognitive dissonance—my brain is screaming "friendly fire". We flash past them and come hard about, crossing the T on their aft array and laying into them with a full broadside. "Biri! Tractor beam!"

"Locked!" Pale blue streams of focused gravitons reach out and close an inexorable grip on the _Emissary_-class ship, tearing at their shields.

"Kanril to Ja'rod, concentrate your fire on this area!"

"_Kanril_? What?"

"Just do it!" The _Kang_ comes around for another pass and disruptor fire hammers into the enemy ship. The _Conqueror_'s rear torpedo launcher fires a spread. "Tess, point-defense!"

"Online!" One of the phasers swats down three of the four in rapid succession and the fourth fails to acquire amid our ECM, streaking straight past our bow and into deep space. Park holds us in their rear arc and Tess keeps hammering them. "Enemy shields failing!"

"How are we doing?"

"Starboard shields at 72 percent!"

"Conn, come about! Tess, load torpedo tube! Full spread as she bears!"

She confirms the order as a message comes in from the _Koranak_. "Target eliminated. We are moving to assist you!"

"Yeah, don't bother, I think we've got it under control. Tess, fire." A final barrage of disruptor bolts from the _Kang_ collapses the aft shields as five quantum torpedoes scream out of the tube and slam into the _Emissary_-class cruiser's unprotected hull. One smashes the starboard nacelle off. The second and third blow craters amidships. The fourth crashes into the hull between the pylons, and number five smashes right in behind it. The warp core breaches and the entire back half of the kilometer-long vessel vanishes in a searing white flash, a radiation pulse washing over our shields. "Wiggin, any survivors?"

"Negative, sir."

"Captain," Esplin says from her station, "Captain Ja'rod is hailing us."

"Onscreen."

I remember being on the opposite side from this face a number of times in the Klingon War. We left his ship dead in space twice that I recall. Have to remember that they're not the same person. The first word out of his mouth when he sees me is a profanity: "_Ql'yah!_"

He looks like he's seen a wraith. I raise an eyebrow at him. "Well, that's not very nice." I gesture at Tess. "She's just an Andorian." She punches my shoulder. "Ow."

"_qatlhIj_," he apologizes. "I did not expect… Ahem."

"_eleya, torvo puqbe' jIH_," I introduce myself."_HoD __bajor__ yuQjIjDIvI' 'ejDo'__."_

_"__You speak my tongue well, Captain."_

_"__Job requirement, Ja'rod, son of Torg."_

_"__QaHlI'ta' jItlho', eleya HoD.__" __Another Klingon comes into view and whispers in his ear. "Gul Morag wishes to speak with you in person."_

I look over to Tess, who nods. "That can be arranged. I have to go check in with damage control, but I can be there in, say, thirty minutes?"

* * *

I leave Tess in charge, and Gaarra, McMillan, K'lak, and I materialize in the transporter room of a _Galor_-class cruiser. Looks about the same as the ones on our side of the fence. A tall, slightly overweight Cardassian male with their typical short, slicked-back hairdo and a gul's insignia on his breastplate stands there, flanked by a trio of armored guards with disruptor rifles leveled. I glare at the fat one and icily tell him, "Gul Morag, I presume? Why don't you have Larry, Curly, and Moe point those toys someplace else?"

Morag looks apologetic and tells his guards, "It's all right, she's not going to pull anything here." He looks to me. "Right?"

I look at him askance and answer, "Believe it or not we're on the same side here. The Terrans have something that belongs to us and we want it back."

"Do you swear that on your honor as a Starfleet officer?" Curly asks. The other two already have their weapons at rest.

"Damn it, Ghemor, lower your weapon," Morag angrily orders. Curly complies, reluctantly. "My apologies, Captain." He looks me up and down. "Ja'rod said, and I didn't believe it, but by Cardassia, you really do look like…" He trails off.

"What are you talking about?"

"Eh, you'll find out soon enough. This way, please."

"This one is Klingon, sir. And yet he works with Terran scum." Moe is probably referring to McMillan. What an incredibly astute grasp of the blazingly obvious.

K'lak says coldly, "I have sworn my honor to the service of the Federation. I would suggest you do not make an issue of it, _qarDaSngan_." He spits the last word out like its very pronunciation tastes bad. He's never much liked the Cardies. Almost as an afterthought he adds, "And if you call my _parmaqqay_ 'scum' again, I will have your _moQDu'_ as a trophy for my quarters."

Ew.

We follow Morag out the door and down the corridor. "Captain," McMillan whispers to me as we go, "where in the hell did you hear of _The Three Stooges_?"

"Academy roommate was a fan. Her payback for me dragging her off to a _Serenity_ screening."

"In here, please," Morag says, gesturing to an open door labeled "Conference Room" in Cardassian.

We enter and all four of us freeze instantly. "_Sher hahr kosst!_" I exclaim.

So does the person I'm looking at. Sitting to the left of the place I'm assuming is reserved for Morag is… me.

Only not quite. On a second look I can see the differences. There's no scar on her cheek, her hair's cut short instead of long and in a ponytail, and she's wearing a Cardassian Guard uniform. And I hope to the Prophets I don't have that expression on my face.

"Captain Kanril Eleya," Morag announces, "this is my first officer, _Dal_ Kanril Eleya."

"_Captain?_" the … other me says in a disbelieving tone.

"There was a Borg attack involved," I answer. "Dal. That's the Cardie version of a commander, right?"

"Your point being?"

"Just making conversation." I pause. Wow. I've got a counterpart on this side, and she's Cardassian Guard.

"So, who are your friends, _Captain_ Kanril?"

I catch her eyeing Gaarra and I recognize the little predatory glint in her eye. Dammit, stay focused, Eleya. "This is my ops officer, Lieutenant Commander Reshek Gaarra, and two of my security officers, Lieutenants Kate McMillan and K'lak."

"So, do you still get to live on Bajor?"

"You don't?"

"Never even been there. Born and raised in Lakarian City. My parents fled Bajor when the Terrans took Terok Nor."

"Ahem," Morag interrupts. "Dal Kanril will be your liaison for this mission, Captain."

Her: "Oh, no, sir, I don't think—"

Me: "Gul Morag, we don't need a—"

"This is _not_ up for discussion," he says with finality. He glares at the other me and she subsides, then he turns his glare on me. "Captain Kanril, let me be blunt. While I do appreciate the assistance, that does not mean I in any way _like_ you. The last time we had dealings with someone from your side the end result was a new Terran Empire, as vile as the last but now they've got cloaking devices."

"Oh, give me a break, you can't hold me responsible for that. My parents hadn't even started dating when that mess happened. Also, I recall from my briefings on this reality that _your_ side started it? Something about Intendant Kira enslaving one of our officers and trying to use the other for a body double-slash-_phekk_toy?"

"Oh, I accept that your Julian Bashir and Kira Nerys executed their duties as prisoners of war, and I personally don't blame them. Intendant Kira was a narcissistic psychopath, and her death appropriately horrific. But the collateral damage from that and the various other … interactions between us has been horrendous."

Captain Ja'rod, or his double anyway, crosses his arms. "The Empire took heavy casualties in our last war ten years ago and we technically won, but our losses were heavier by all measures and they are regaining their strength and using cloakship raids to disrupt our attempts to rebuild. We will fight and die with honor, but even our most optimistic projections suggest that the next war can at best be fought to a draw."

"About that, I think we can help you even the odds somewhat."

"Are you saying you can provide us with cloaks of our own?" Morag asks.

"No," I tell him firmly. "Even if I personally had that data I'd be breaking several regs and disobeying standing orders from my commander-in-chief, and I'd probably be in violation of the Prime Directive, too."

"The what?" the other me asks.

K'lak answers for me, "The highest principle of the Federation. We are not to interfere in the natural development of other cultures unless the potential harm from interfering is outweighed by the harm from _not_ interfering."

"I can't tell you how to build a cloaking device, but I can tell you how to _beat_ the ones the Terrans have. They reverse-engineered their cloaks from one they got from the Klingon Empire on our side. Now, the Federation and the Klingons are sort of allies at the moment—"

"That'd take too damn long to explain," Gaarra interjects.

"—but we've had more than our share of—I'm gonna go with—less-than-cordial encounters and had to learn to beat their cloaks. I can teach you some of the tricks we've learned."

"What do you want in return for this data?" Morag asks with some suspicion.

I turn my head to him and jerk my head in the direction of Larry, the head of the _Koranak_'s troop contingent if I'm reading the script on his breastplate correctly. My Cardassian's a little rusty. "How about we start with your friend over there not looking at my security officer like she's something that got stuck to the bottom of his boot? Call it a show of good faith."

"And this doesn't violate your so-called Prime Directive?" the other me asks.

"We're not allowed to interfere in internal matters without invitation, and sometimes not even then," Gaarra explains, "but if there's damage done by an outside party we can step in to mitigate it, especially on humanitarian grounds. The cloak the Terrans acquired and reverse-engineered was given to them illegally by our Ferengi. Outside-context interference, ergo not covered by the Prime Directive. And I would venture to guess the collateral damage from the Terrans' raids has been pretty high?"

"They're not picky about their targets. Never have been."

"Then we've got a humanitarian argument in our favor, too," I confirm. "Once the Terran raiders' losses start to spike, they'll work out that you can suddenly see their cloakships and pull back. It'll give your side some breathing room and reduce civilian casualties."

"We could just _take_ the data, sir," Larry says to Morag.

"No, you couldn't," I icily reply. "First of all, in your current state the _Bajor_ outguns both of your remaining ships put together. Second, our cyberwarfare tech is way better than yours so you'll have to physically board us. My XO has orders to erase the files if they pick up any unauthorized transporter signatures, and you'll never get a shuttle docked in one piece. Third, quit testing my patience, you moron."

"Yes, _do_ stop antagonizing our guests, Dalin Bastra," the other me says in a condescending tone, before turning to Morag. "Sir, it's up to you but I'm inclined to take the offer."

The gul pinches his chin for a moment, then nods once. "Captain Kanril, on behalf of the Seventh Order of the Cardassian Guard, I accept your gift in the spirit it was intended."

"I'll have my people send you the data when I get back to my ship. Now, can we talk about the reason I actually came over here in the first place?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And at long last, Mirror Kanril.

This was actually the first chapter I wrote. I had the idea for "Kanril meets her mirror version" way before I came up with doing a novelization of "The Other Side", so I ended up making most of this chapter (the meeting with Dal Kanril and Gul Morag in particular) and then finding a plot to put it in.

The trick with this story is, because of the nature of Our Intrepid Heroes™, the usual "same crew as the prime universe but EVIL" storyline for mirror universe stories just plain doesn't work. The Mirror Bajorans are part of the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance, so the Terrans wouldn't have built an ISS _Bajor_ and Mirror Kanril wouldn't join them (remember, in the mirror universe the power that occupied Bajor for 50 years was the Terran Empire, not the Cardassians). Meanwhile Prime Kanril's command crew are mostly species that are Terran-aligned (Andorian, human, and Trill), so there's no sense in putting everybody on the Alliance side, either.

So instead I went the _Deep Space Nine_ route of changing practically everything. Mirror Kanril is a career officer instead of a former enlisted crewman, and she's first officer instead of captain. I haven't quite decided yet if any of the mirror versions of Prime Kanril's crew will appear.

I also enjoyed getting creative with some of the ship classes used by the Terran Empire. The _Harbinger_-class is, as stated, the Imperial version of Starfleet's _Emissary_-class (the Mirror Assault Cruiser, in other words). The _Sato_-class is an equivalent to the _Excalibur_-class (no playable counterpart), while the _Wauja_-class is equivalent to the _Dakota_-class (Mirror Heavy Cruiser). The name on the latter refers to the Wauja people of Brazilian Amazonia. Figured a South American indigenous people would be a nice counterpoint to the North American Dakota tribe.

And yes, I just killed off the mirror version of Akira Sulu. So I guess we finally have an answer to that question. :P


	5. Hall of Mirrors

**Chapter 5: Hall of Mirrors**

I walk into the sickbay on the _Bajor_ to see the back of my opposite number. She's sitting on one of the exam tables stripped to the waist. Tight, corded muscles flex under the skin as she looks over her shoulder and sarcastically asks, "See anything you like, _Captain_?"

I give her the hairy eyeball. "I don't swing that way. Just saw you, is all."

When we got back aboard Warragul insisted that she be brought straight to him for a full workup. We're not taking any chances with the other side trying to replace me like they've tried before. She grabs the undershirt that goes with her Cardassian Guard breastplate and pulls it on over her head, then asks me, "Where's the restroom on this tub?"

"Excuse me, _tub_?" I glare at her.

She grimaces. "Sorry."

I let her stew for a moment, then, "Computer, please direct Dal Kanril to the restroom." I focus on her again. "Follow the green light at the baseboard."

"Thank you." She grabs her breastplate off the coat rack and pulls it on, then walks out the door.

"Warragul! Where are you?"

"My office, Cap'n!" a South Australian tenor voice answers. I follow it into the sickbay's admin office, where he's waiting with Chief Corpsman Watkins and Dul'krah.

The three of them snap to attention. "As you were. Tell me about her."

He scoffs. "I might as well read off your own chart, Cap'n. Apart from the lack of facial and abdominal knife scars, a replicated kidney, and associated residual trauma she's exactly like you down to the genetic level."

"Plus or minus a tiny fraction of a percentage point attributable to environmental mutation," Watkins adds. "And she's about a centimeter shorter."

"Does she represent a security risk?"

Dul'krah scratches at his left ear. "I do not believe so, Captain. Granted, we will have to change protocols to keep her out of classified areas of the computer memory, but that is as simple as creating a password. However, it will slow down your access as well."

"I want at least two of your people on her at all times."

"I have already assigned Lieutenants McMillan and K'lak for the first shift. She already knows them. Second shift will be Chief Athezra and Security Officer Tran, third shift Ensign Runkaar and Security Officer Nurik." I nod approvingly.

"Something interesting, though, Captain," Corpsman Watkins says. "I touched her mind when I was taking her pulse. Couldn't help it; Betazoids are always-on."

"Did you get anything useful?" Watkins is only about a third Betazoid and her abilities are very limited.

"She doesn't _feel_ anything like you. She feels like a born-and-bred Cardassian. Her thought patterns—"

"You're sure she's Bajoran, though, right?"

She nods. "Genetically and biologically, yes. The differences are mostly psychological."

Warragul continues, "She also had a poison capsule encased in a false back molar, which we removed. Promazine, nasty stuff. The Obsidian Order used it to keep their operatives from being taken alive. Kills fast and disintegrates the body within a few hours, but it feels like your whole head is on fire until you cark it."

"I'm sure she took exception to that."

"Well, I managed to convince her of how seriously I take the Hippocratic Oath. The lolly helped." He laughs at the look on my face. "Jumja stick. Seems she's got as much of a sweet tooth as you do, Cap'n."

"Okay, so we're not completely different. How is she physically?"

"She's in extremely good shape, bar a few fresh and healing bruises consistent with full-contact hand-to-hand drills. Cardies don't skimp on physical training; they work their people even harder than we do. She's also got a device similar to our contraceptive implants, and she's wearing a Cardassian betrothal pendant."

I raise an eyebrow. "Thought the Cardassians tended not to allow enjoined women to stay on active service."

Watkins gives me a look. "Would you let that stop _you_, Captain?" I consider, then shake my head. "Her neither. You and she have similar personalities from what I can tell."

The intercom chirps and Tess's voice comes through. "Bridge to Sickbay. Captain, we're ready for the demo you requested."

"All right, I'll be there shortly."

* * *

I step out of the turbolift onto the bridge and freeze. Tess is pointing a phaser at me, with everybody else sitting at their stations, staring in either suspicion, fear, or in Biri's case what looks like a stubborn refusal to burst out laughing. "Why did I join Starfleet?" Tess demands.

"Tess, what the _phekk_ are you doing?"

"Answer the question!"

I think back. Right, the day we met, Vega. "To piss off your _thavan_, wasn't it?"

She promptly lowers the weapon and slides it into a holster belted at her waist. "Sorry, ma'am. Had to be sure."

I just stare at her. "You really think she can just replace me like that?"

"Terrans managed it with Kirk."

"Kirk didn't have a ten-year-old scar on his belly, Tess. Next time you're not sure, just ask me to pull up my shirt."

"Told you," Gaarra comments nonchalantly.

The Saurian at communications interrupts the repartee. "Captain," Esplin says, "I've got that conference call set up for you." I acknowledge her with a nod and a smile as Ja'rod and Gul Morag appear on the viewscreen.

The turbolift door slides open again behind me and the other me walks out. "Tess, Dal Kanril Eleya," I introduce her. "Dal, my XO and tactical officer, Commander Tess Phohl."

They lock eyes. Tess's antennae twitch and Kanril tenses. Tess moves first, starting to swing a left hook, and Kanril drops into a ready stance I recognize as Sau'vikta Three from Cardassian military boxing, hands up, knees bent slightly. They stay like that for two seconds or so, and then Tess stops and holds out her hand to my double. "Good to meet you."

"Uh, thank you, Commander," she replies, taking the proffered hand gingerly.

"I think we'll be all right, ma'am," Tess says to me, curtly, and takes her place at the tactical officer console.

Kanril just stands there looking nervous for a bit, then tells me, "I've never actually spoken to an Andorian before."

"Get used to it, there's over sixty of us aboard," Tess says without looking up.

"No time like the present," Biri says, friendlier. "Birail Riyannis, science officer. Call me Biri. And you've already met Gaarra, of course."

"So what's this demo you wanted me up here for?"

"Cloak Penetration 101, sir," Master Chief Wiggin answers from his console. "Now, obviously we don't have anything to test it on, but it's a well-proven technique on our side. We picked it up from the Dominion."

"The who?"

"I'll explain later." I shoot Wiggin a dirty look. Technically his slip of the tongue is a mild Prime Directive violation. Rule number one is, never say any more than you have to.

Wiggin continues, "It's an active sensor technique called an antiproton sweep. Antiprotons resonate in a consistent, detectable way when they interact with a cloaking field. Now, you can modulate the cloak to reduce the feedback, but it takes time and it's difficult when you're under attack. Commander Reshek, you ready?"

"I was waiting on you, Master Chief. Generating antiproton spread in five, four, three, two, one, mark."

Wiggin rears back in his seat. "Bloody hell! We hit something!"

"Battle stations!" I bellow. "Lock torpedoes and fire!"

As a spread of quantum torpedoes screams from the forward tube, a pair of _Defiant_-class ships decloak seventy kilometers out and come hard about, burning hard towards us. Their cannons defensively spit as one and the torpedoes are wiped off the map fifteen klicks short, and then they stretch into the distance and vanish into warp, rapidly boosting into the warp 10 asymptote. "I'm locked on, Captain!" Tess says. "We can catch them!"

"Let them go, Commander Phohl," Dal Kanril says. "Too late anyway—they'll have reported back over subspace already."

"Is your name 'Captain'?" Tess snaps at her.

"No, but mine is, and she's right, there's no point. I think we can assume we've just lost the element of surprise. The Terrans know we're here now, they know what to look for." I bang my fist on the railing in frustration.

"Well, on th-e bright side, at least we know for certain your technobabble works," Gul Morag remarks. "What else can you tell us?"

"Well, let's see. A ship traveling under cloak at high warp produces minor fluctuations in local subspace, and there's this little trick with tachyon beams…"

We finish up half an hour later, by which point additional Klingon and Cardassian ships have arrived. They're suspicious at first but Morag and Ja'rod talk them down. There's at least two familiar faces in the bunch, Guls Antos and Surjan from the Fifth Order. Surjan informs me, "Supreme Legate Corat Damar has been informed of your presence, Captain Kanril. He is not pleased."

"Why, 'cause he has to work with the Federation?"

"I'm sure Jagul-in-Waiting Morag has explained our history with your government."

"Not this again—hang on, 'jagul-in-waiting'?"

"The Seventh Order's commander, Jagul Mekor Dukat, was gravely wounded in a Terran raid yesterday. He was pronounced dead two hours ago."

"My condolences."

Antos smiles faintly. "I will pass them to his widow. In any event the Central Command is recommending Morag as his replacement. Now, Captain, do you plan to help us strike back at the Terrans, or are we going to wait here for them to come and pick us off?"

"I'm not sure yet what we have to do. The Prophets didn't give me a whole lot of guidance."

"Right, your so-called gods gave you an objective and no actual intel," Dal Kanril grumbles behind me.

"Watch it," Gaarra growls to my left. "They're on this side, too."

"Okay then, if they're so great, where were they when the Terrans showed up a century ago?"

I roll my eyes. "Would you excuse me a minute, Gul Antos?" I mute the microphone. "Dal Kanril!" I snap, rounding on her. "I'll be perfectly happy to debate the finer points of theology with you at your convenience but right now I have a _phekk'ta_ job to do! Can it!"

She glares at me. I know that look—it's the same one I had on my face when I told Ambassador Dronk to _phekk_ off at the Jenolan conference. Before she can say what's on her mind I fix her with my best Sergeant Implacable stare, the look that says, I don't give a flying _phekk_ if you're Shakaar Edon himself; as far as I'm concerned you're just another brainless boot who can't tell which end of a combat knife goes into the other guy. I learned from the best, and it works even better on the Bajoran in the Cardassian uniform than it typically does on a Starfleet newbie: she suddenly snaps to attention and starts intensely studying the wall behind me.

Then she gets a confused look on her face. "Hey, that's cheating."

"Do I have your attention?" She nods. "Then please leave my bridge unless you have something useful to add." Her face twists and I give her a slightly less sergeant-y look, and she whirls and stalks out the turbolift door with McMillan and K'lak hot on her heels.

I unmute the screen. "Sorry, Gul Antos."

He looks like he's trying not to laugh. "I've been telling Kerim for years he has a very insubordinate subordinate."

I laugh at that. "Trust me, sir, I'm even worse. Now, about that sensor data."

* * *

I leave Biri and Wiggin studying the Alliance sensor records for signs of the energy signature of an Orb of the Prophets and take a break, headed for the officers' gym.

The other me is stripped to her form-fitting undershirt and a pair of borrowed sweatpants and is making a concerted effort to kill the punching bag. "I hope that's not supposed to be me," I comment as I unzip my uniform jacket.

She stops pounding the bag and looks over at me, panting slightly. "Captain, where the _shtel_ did you learn how to do that?"

"Do what?"

"That look you gave me on the bridge. I felt like I was dealing with Garresh Arken during First Stage after I was conscripted."

"Oh, that. You thought I was born wearing a Starfleet uniform? No, I spent four years in the Bajoran Militia first. Non-commissioned officer, naval gunnery tech." I take off my earring, yank my undershirt off, and dig my sweatpants out of the locker.

"Huh. How'd you end up in Starfleet?"

"Politics. Sort of. Space Arm got shut down due to budget cuts and I wanted to stay blackside, so my CO arranged for a transfer. 'Conscripted', huh?"

She nods, grabbing a water bottle next to her and taking a gulp. "Cardassian Guard doesn't do recruitment the way the Terrans do, and especially not the Klingons. Anybody who scores over certain thresholds at secondary school graduation gets an offer they're not allowed to refuse—either civil service or military depending, five years minimum. They thought I had 'leadership qualities' so they made me an officer."

"Was it what you wanted?"

She laughs derisively, gulps down some more water and waves a dismissive hand. "Not about what I want. It's about what the State _needs_."

"Right, service to Cardassia above all."

"You don't have to be sarcastic about it. Are the Cardassians on your side any different?"

"Not exactly, but they had a rough time in the Seventies. Civilians revolted, military government got overthrown—"

"What?" Disbelieving look on her face.

Kate McMillan explains, "The Obsidian Order kinda got itself blown up in '71. Um, Captain, do I have permission to—"

"She's heard the name already and it's not classified information. A little late to be worried about the Prime Directive."

McMillan nods. "The Obsidian Order and the Romulans got together and tried to do a preemptive strike on a civilization in the Gamma Quadrant called the Dominion. It was a trap—one of the op's planners was a Dominion agent and they all got shredded. A dissident movement took advantage and overthrew the Central Command."

"Nonsense."

"And that is exactly what our Klingons thought," K'lak states. "They invaded Cardassia and between them and a colonial insurgency in the Demilitarized Zone between the Union and the Federation, the Cardassians were driven into the arms of the Dominion, with some help from a traitor named Skrain Dukat."

She raises an eyebrow. "As in the former Supreme Legate?"

"On our side, officially he never rose past gul," I correct her. "But he told the Dominion he'd give them the Alpha Quadrant if they put him in charge of the Union."

"Okay, who are these 'Dominion' characters, anyway?" She starts pounding the bag again.

"Pray you never have to meet them," I tell her seriously. "It took two years and the three biggest governments on our side put together to deal with them, and over a billion and a half people were dead by the end, half of them Cardassian." I take a breath. "If you're still curious, you can look them up in the ship's computer. Short version, they're run by shapeshifters with a self-appointed manifest destiny to bring 'order' to the galaxy," and I drop air-quotes across the word "order".

"No matter who gets in the way? Sounds like the Terrans."

I can't argue with that. "Anyway, the Cardassians eventually got sick of the Dominion and switched sides, helped us take them down. Nowadays, the popular definition of 'serving Cardassia' is rehabbing their reputation and rebuilding from the war. They've given up on being conquistadors for the most part."

Then the intercom chirps. "El, it's Biri. I found something."

I press the key on the wall. "Whatcha got?"

"I'm not completely sure yet, just a signal from a Klingon scout vessel in the Bavar system. Give me and Astrometrics ten minutes or so to massage the numbers and I'll know more."

"All right, keep me posted." I curse under my breath. So much for getting a good workout in.

Unless… "Hey, Dal Kanril, how does a few minutes in the ring sound?"

She lands a roundhouse kick on the bag. "You're not serious."

I grin at her. "Consider it your chance to get me back for shutting you down earlier. Come on, I need a workout but I'm short on time."

She shrugs and tosses her towel aside. "Best two out of three?" I nod and we clamber up into the boxing ring on the side of the gym.

I drop into a loose ready stance; she matches me with Sau'vikta Three. "That's quite a scar," she says, stalking to her left.

"Caught a knife during a boarding action," I explain, matching her. "Poison screwed with the dermal regenerator. Same with the one on my face."

"You weren't wearing armor? Not even a stab vest?"

"We were defending. Didn't have time."

"Must've hurt like a son of a vole." Then she moves. She rushes me but I'm no longer there, stepping forward and right. I drop low and grab her legs and send her sprawling.

I pivot on a foot and drop on top as she turns over and rap her forehead with a knuckle. "Good try, though," I comment. I grab her hand and pull her up. "That's one."

"Yeah, that was careless. Won't happen again."

We square off again, then she jumps forward and fires a punch at my midsection. Block low right, kick left. Intercepted with knee. Sidestep, grab at upper arm. She steps inside the charge, grabs my arm and throws me past her. Rebound off the wire, running right haymaker to head. Deflected into shoulder with right block. I grunt as she knees me in the hip. Fake left, right jab to midsection. She grunts but traps the arm, knees me in the stomach and hits the back of my knee with a foot and my leg collapses and she drives me onto my back. "One-one."

I hold out an arm and she pulls me up. "You're using my moves."

"Really?"

"Well, some of them," I amend.

"I noticed that. They teach _chakar daran_ in Starfleet?"

"No, the Militia. Although this Earth art Starfleet teaches is similar. They call it Krav Maga."

"I've heard of it. The Terrans teach it, too." She backsteps and drops into a ready stance again, Sau'vikta Five this time, arms lower and wider. "Final round, Scarface."

"'Scarface'? You're going down for that." I jump and tackle her to the ground. She shoves me off and rolls and my fist hits the mat. She kicks my hip and knocks me over and leaps to her feet as I absorb the kick, rolling clear, and pop up.

We start circling again. I advance. Fake jab right, parried with forearm, left punch to cheek and her head snaps back. Right straight to the breast, left uppercut to chin, knee to stomach and the air whuffs out of her and she drops backwards. I press my advantage, spinning to gain momentum, and kick her in the shoulder and she flies into the ropes. She bounces off and lands an arm-bar across my chest as I knee her in the groin, and we both go down.

I lie there staring up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to get the air back into my lungs, and hear somebody laughing. I look over at her and she's laughing despite the blood dripping out of her nose. "Ha ha ha! Whoo!" She gets up on an elbow and wipes the line of blood off her mouth with the back of a hand. "You're good, Captain!"

"You're not so bad yourself. Call it a draw?"

"Sure."

The intercom chirps again. "Captain, Biri again. I got what I needed. Senior staff briefing in the conference room, fifteen minutes."

"Got it." I roll to my feet and help Dal Kanril up. "Want a dermal regenerator for that nose?"

"It's already stopping."

"All right, showers are this way."

* * *

"Talk to me, Biri," I tell the Trill as I sit down in my usual chair at the conference room's curved table. Guls Morag and Antos are also present, as is a Klingon general I'm not familiar with, a _dahar_ master named K'Bor, son of QulDun, of the House of J'mpok. Sitting at the end of the table? Another familiar face, Koren, daughter of Grilka. Dal Kanril sits next to her captain, off to my left.

Biri clicks to a system map. "This is the Bavar system. On our side it was an important stronghold for the Maquis but there's not a whole lot there. One marginally Class M planet, two smallish gas giants, and the rest is debris. But we only care about the Class M." She clicks her remote. "Commander Koren's AKS _QuHvaj'Qob_—sorry, Koren, did I pronounce that right?"

"You did," she confirms.

"Good." More good than she knows, considering what that turns into if you miss the glottal stop. "Anyway, three days ago she found a previously unknown Terran base, and buried in her sensor records, Astrometrics Specialist First Class Kirvin Tors"—she gestures at a dark-skinned Perikian Bajoran noncom—"found an energy signature consistent with an Orb of the Prophets."

"A what?" Koren asks, visibly confused.

She flicks to an image of the Orb of Prophecy and Change. "We've never been completely sure. They're artifacts created by a race of beings that live inside a wormhole near here. On our side the Bajorans believe they're gods—Well, damn it, Kirvin, what do you want me to say about them? We're on the clock here!"

"Relax, Petty Officer Kirvin," I tell him, gently but firmly. "If you're mad about it take it up with Prylar Simene." He slumps back into his seat, still gritting his teeth. "Sorry," I tell the Alliance reps. "It's a touchy subject with my people."

"Not you?" K'Bor asks. He has a rumbling, gravelly voice.

"I didn't say it wasn't," I answer, giving him a pointed look. "But Commander Riyannis is not a member of our faith. I don't have the right to dictate what she can and can't believe any more than she does us."

"Thank you kindly, Captain. Anyway, they're objects with great power over space and time and the Terrans switched it with the one from this side. Not sure when, not sure how, but according to the Captain's Orb experience it's how they're keeping that portal in the outer system open."

K'Bor leans forward. "Allow me to skip forward. You propose a planetary assault against a Terran surface base, based on a vision."

"Yes," Tess answers.

"I was not talking to you, _anDorngan_. _eleya HoD?_"

"Tess speaks for me."

He looks me in the eye. I glare back at him.

Then he starts laughing, a deep, rumbling laugh that I feel in my bones, and Biri jumps when he slams his fist into the table, knocking over my water glass. "Hah! It is past time we take the fight to the _tera'nganpu'_! We will fight with you, _eleya HoD_, and it will be _glorious_!"

Antos looks horrified. "General, are you out of your mind?"

"Perhaps. But I see this warrior before me and my blood rises. She may be coddled and well-fed like the rest of the Terrans' ilk, but she has heart, just like Gul Morag's _yaS wa'DIch_. I believe her, and I will call for additional forces. How many troops do you have aboard your ship?"

"If you mean regular infantry? None. Starfleet doesn't do ground assaults often enough."

The other me lets out a derisive burst of laughter. "So, what, we're carrying you?"

"I didn't say that!" I snap over my shoulder at her. "What I do have is a unit of MACOs. Elite Starfleet commandos trained for orbit-to-surface insertion, clearing LZs, that sort of thing. And I'll be on the ground with you, and you'll have as many of my people with ground combat training as can be spared."

"Like who?"

"Remember K'lak and McMillan, Dal Kanril? They're not just ship security, they're my sniper team. Thirty-four confirmed kills including seven I saw myself, and K'lak once shot a man off a hostage from 270 meters. You'll be the hammer but we're the rapier. I've also got combat engineers, an onboard industrial replicator, and a prefab field hospital better than anything you've got."

Gul Morag looks to Dal Kanril and murmurs something in Cardassian that I don't catch. I get the gist of what she says back but it's not fit for polite company. I do hear a "yes" in there, though, and the hook-nosed gul turns to me. "We're in."

"Morag!" Antos says in an almost pleading tone.

"What do you want me to say, Tekeny? Cardassia has an opportunity here. Forget the Orb for a minute—this looks to be a major Terran base, likely the source of operations we've been looking for in this sector block for months. We take it quick enough, we get a lot of usable intelligence, and even if we don't we eliminate a serious threat to our rear areas. And you weren't here to see Kanril fight, but she's a good commander, and so far everything she's said has held up. I believe the potential reward is worth the risk."

"I'm not moving without authorization from the Central Command." Morag throws a datacard on the table. "What's this?"

"Authorization from the Central Command placing me in overall command of our forces here, including your little flotilla."

He stares at Morag. "You're pulling rank on me, Kerim? After all the years we've served together?"

"If I have to. I'd rather not."

"You're a real bastard, you know that?"

"Take it out on the Terrans."

"Fine," he grudgingly agrees. "I'll contact Jagul Figler and see if he can spare anything more from the Fifth Order. I'm not holding out much hope, though—they got torn up pretty good at Goralis. So did the Klingons."

"Yes, and General B'Vat was captured, I know."

"If he survived he will require many battles to regain his honor," K'Bor comments.

"He'll get them," I assure him. "Now that you can defeat the Terrans' cloaks you should be able to start pushing them back without my help. Let's start planning the attack."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So we learn a little more about Dal Kanril, and see the mirror versions of three Cryptic characters, Guls Antos and Surjan from "Standoff", and Captain Whiny Bitch of the IKS _Whineatyou'_, who I've decided commands a crappy bird-of-prey in the mirror universe because I don't like her. K'Bor, meanwhile, is the mirror version of Brokosh's Pointy-Haired Boss in _Red Fire, Red Planet_.

The bit about Dal Kanril being "a very insubordinate subordinate" and Eleya being worse was a dual _Stargate SG-1_ reference (the one's a line from "Seth" regarding Jack, the other's in reference to Richard Dean Anderson asking Air Force Chief of Staff General Michael Ryan if he had colonels as irreverent as O'Neill). The part where Eleya gets Dal Kanril to come to attention despite herself was borrowed from a _Mass Effect_ fanfic called _The Translation in Blood_. "Jagul Figler" is a reference to a piece masopw on the _STO_ forum wrote for Literary Challenge 65, because it cracked me up.

DS9: "Covenant" said that promazine killed painlessly, but we only have Dukat's word on it. I decided that it was false information put out by the Obsidian Order in order to encourage captured operatives to take their poison.


End file.
